


Secret Service

by Sed



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dark Comedy, Dirty Jokes, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Inappropriate Humor, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Rimming, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22910938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: Anduin Wrynn and Mathias Shaw have been captured by the Horde. They need to stall for time, and Nathanos is willing to make a deal.
Relationships: Mathias Shaw/Anduin Wrynn/Nathanos Blightcaller
Comments: 58
Kudos: 118





	Secret Service

**Author's Note:**

> **Mind the tags.**
> 
> Heads up for mentions of other ships, which I'm not going to list here because they're spoilers and frankly I think it's more fun if you just stumble unaware into this story. I sure as hell did.
> 
> Fun fact: I wrote the first few paragraphs while drunk. I was also drunk when I decided on this threesome, so. Depending on how you feel about it I definitely should or shouldn't ever drink again.
> 
> Thanks/blame go to a few people in the Lionfang discord who may not wish to be named here, but they know what they did. Credit to Daz and Niki for the title.

It was supposed to be a routine mission: escort the king, observe the negotiations, oversee his safety, and return him to Boralus without incident. Easy.

Except it seemed nothing was ever as easy as it _should_ be. Not for Mathias Shaw, and certainly not for his king, who seemed to attract the worst sort of trouble. It had been different serving his father; Varian Wrynn was headstrong, brash, and never seemed to care for the concept of limits, but at least he could handle himself in a scrape. He was a born fighter, a man whose very presence brought others to heel. His son, Anduin… well, he was as beautiful as he was sensitive, and if he was powerful, it was wrought through faith in the Light alone. The young king could shoot a bow and throw a knife—Valeera Sanguinar had seen to that much, evidently—but in a pinch, in a life-or-death moment, in Shaw’s opinion he was the next best thing to useless.

And it just so happened that was _exactly_ where they found themselves one very unpleasant morning in Kul Tiras.

“What an auspicious start to the day,” Nathanos Blightcaller drawled, pacing like a caged tiger awaiting an easy meal. “You,” he said, pointing to Shaw, “might have been prize enough. But your little lion cub as well? Extraordinary. Tell me, what sort of security are you Alliance lot running these days?”

They had been in a caravan, surrounded by armed soldiers. Two dozen highly-trained footmen. It should have been enough.

 _Should_ have been.

Now, Shaw and the king were the only survivors, and if rumors of the Horde’s preferred interrogation methods were true, that wouldn’t hold for very long.

He looked up from where he was kneeling, arms bound behind his back, and fixed Blightcaller with a defiant glare. “You got lucky,” he reminded him. That much was more or less true; the Horde had simply been in the right place at the right time and managed to overwhelm them. No matter how hard the Alliance fought, the enemy simply had greater numbers. It was basic math.

“You say that as though you think it’s something I should be ashamed of, Spymaster.” Blightcaller knelt down, taking Shaw’s chin between his gloved fingers. “I believe you’ll make an excellent addition to the Banshee Queen’s forces. With proper… training, of course.”

Shaw jerked his head away and resisted the urge to shudder. The potential meanings behind Blightcaller’s innuendo were too long to list.

“Let the spymaster go and I’ll cooperate,” the king offered.

Blightcaller laughed. “Do you imagine that means anything to me, Your Majesty?” He was still kneeling, but his attention had turned to the king, who was similarly bound and on his knees beside Shaw. Stupid: he should have kept his mouth shut. “Whatever secrets you hold—and I imagine they are far fewer than this slithering snake—will be extracted from you either before your death, or following your resurrection. It makes no difference. Once you belong to my lady, you will have no further need of silence.”

Shaw pulled against his bonds. “If you lay a hand on him—”

Blightcaller gave him a patronizing look. “Really?”

Yes, really. That was the best he had given the circumstances, and they both knew it.

Blightcaller hummed as he reached out to lift the king’s chin with his fingertip, much as he had done to Shaw. “You are quite something, aren’t you,” he murmured. “It’s no wonder your men fall in line behind you. A mere _boy_. By your age I’d lost count of my kills. What have you got—a half dozen to your name?” He sneered, and his eyes roamed the king’s body in a lecherous way that made Shaw’s skin crawl. “Not a mark on you, I imagine. Quite something indeed.”

“Take your hands off him.”

“Or what, spy? You’ll _glare_ at me some more?” Blightcaller scoffed. He abruptly seized the king by his collar and pulled him in close. Shaw had no more than a half-second to process what he was seeing before Blightcaller had pressed his lips to the king’s, opening his mouth to slide his tongue inside while the king shouted and struggled against his implacable grip. When he finally let go it was with a hard shove that sent the king sprawling onto his back. A position Shaw didn’t like _at all_ , given what had just happened.

But to his immense relief, Blightcaller stood. “How about a deal?” he asked, looking down on them with a smug grin. “A little entertainment while we await our escort back to Orgrimmar. In return, we can discuss your _demands_.”

They had been dragged into a Horde encampment, one that Shaw, he was ashamed to admit, had known nothing about. Now they were surrounded by dozens of Horde soldiers, with a coast to their backs. With that, an enemy ship could slip them out of Kul Tiras before anyone even knew the caravan had been attacked. Their only advantage at the moment was that Blightcaller apparently wanted them on the _Banshee’s Wail_ , rather than whatever troop transport they had holding anchor offshore. Time was on their side, but it could run out at any moment, and they wouldn’t have much warning when it did.

Stalling… _might_ … buy them a little more breathing room.

“What do you have in mind?” Shaw asked.

The king shot him an incredulous look, but Shaw couldn’t spare the time to explain himself. He would have to wait for the right moment, if one ever came. That seemed unlikely, given where they were.

Blightcaller seemed delighted by his sudden cooperation. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually _interested_.”

“I’m interested in whatever keeps us alive. Start talking.”

“Master Shaw…” the king said quietly, obviously worried. He had managed to sit up again.

“Let me handle this, Your Majesty.”

“You are right to be concerned,” Blightcaller said to the king. “I have every intention of seeing you thoroughly used and debased before the day is through.”

The king’s eyes widened, and he objected wordlessly, looking back and forth between Shaw and the Forsaken archer as though there was some argument he might make that would change what was about to happen. Shaw truly wished that were true.

“You’re not to touch him,” he said.

“Oh? And what’s to stop me from simply _taking_ what I want?” Blightcaller asked.

“Because you’re not interested in forcing yourself on someone. If you were, you’d have done it already.” Beside him the king made a strangled sound. “That kiss was just you making a point. You want him to want it.”

“And you believe I could not make your pretty little king want me?”

“I think _you_ don’t believe it,” Shaw said firmly.

Blightcaller seemed to consider that, and if he was offended, he kept it to himself. “Then it seems we have a deal,” he said. “I will not lay another hand on him. So long as you both do _exactly_ as I say.”

“Master Shaw?” the king asked, his voice suddenly very small.

“Your Majesty, I need you to trust me.”

Coming around behind him, Blightcaller released Shaw’s hands from the ropes with one quick slice. He kept the blade out and visible, reminding them all of what was at stake. “Yes,” he said smugly, “ _trust him_.” To Shaw, he said, “Remove his bindings.”

The king—Anduin, he mentally corrected; no sense further reminding himself of the grave sin he was about to commit—flinched away, but Shaw met his eyes and tried his best to communicate how vitally important it was that he _not_ fight this. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but he would do his best to make sure it wasn’t as bad as it could be.

Once he was free, Anduin rubbed his wrists and put his hands up. “I’m not going to allow this,” he said to both of them. “I have no interest in being used for his demented pleasure.”

Shaw tried to explain, but Blightcaller spoke over him. “No, he’s quite right,” he said, “it is thoroughly demented.”

“You’re not _helping_ ,” Shaw hissed through his teeth.

Blightcaller laughed. “I have made my deal with you, Spymaster. See it through however you deem appropriate, but _get it done_.”

 _However you deem appropriate_ was a nice way of saying he could force the issue where even Blightcaller himself wasn’t willing to. Or, if not unwilling, at least uninterested. It was fortunate he at least had that much decency, even if only as a byproduct of some other perversion.

“Shaw,” Anduin said quietly.

“We really don’t have any other choice,” Shaw explained. Under his breath, he added, “I’ll be gentle.”

“How very maudlin.”

“Blightcaller!” Shaw snapped.

For a moment he and the king simply stared at one another, neither willing to budge. Shaw because he was desperate to save their lives, and Anduin because he placed a higher value on his dignity than Shaw ever had. Frankly, after decades of service to the crown in all the ways not mentioned in polite company, he didn’t have enough left to worry about. Stripping down and fucking for an enemy’s entertainment in some dingy little tent was just a matter of finding a way to forget that someone was watching. Perhaps the king simply didn’t understand that, or else he thought his own pride was worth dying for.

That would be incredibly foolish.

“I’ll do it,” Anduin said at last.

“As though you had any choice,” Blightcaller chuckled. “What a shame. I think I’d have liked to watch him take you by force.” He hummed to himself. “Perhaps when you’ve been turned; a little exhibition for the warchief to enjoy.”

Shaw tried to ignore him. He nodded, and reached out to pull Anduin close for a kiss. In the back of his mind he could only think about how it was Blightcaller’s lips that had last touched the young king’s; Blightcaller’s tongue that had tasted his mouth. The indirect contact made his skin crawl. He tried to push it aside and focus instead on the way Anduin felt under his fingers, the scent of his hair… His eyes were closed, but Shaw knew their shade of blue regardless. He could recall it in his sleep if he wanted to.

And he _had_ wanted to, on more than one occasion. But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

Anduin was breathing quickly, and his fingers shook where they grasped Shaw’s arms. “Relax, Your Majesty.”

“Just Anduin,” came the murmured reply against his lips. Shaw accepted the offer with a nod. It would be easier, just as it was easier to think of him as someone else in his head. Someone a little less… untouchable.

“Alright, Anduin.”

“Tongues,” Blightcaller ordered.

Shaw cursed himself. He had almost managed to forget that they had an audience. But he obeyed, and slipped his tongue past Anduin’s lips, taking him by surprise. He felt Anduin’s small start, and wrapped his arms around him to ease his worries, for all the good it would do. For what felt like several minutes they simply knelt there, kissing, Shaw with his arms around Anduin’s slender waist, and Anduin clinging to Shaw like the only solid ground in a surging flood. When he buried his hand in Anduin’s hair it slid around his fingers like silk. He had never really dared to imagine what touching his king this way might feel like.

“I’m sure you can do more than play with his hair,” Blightcaller sneered.

Anduin tensed in his arms, and Shaw stroked his scalp soothingly. But he obeyed nevertheless; his palms roamed down Anduin’s back, sliding over the swell of his ass and down to his thighs. Fingertips teased between his legs from behind, and he felt a sigh against his mouth.

“Touch him _more_.”

For a dead man Blightcaller really was rather pushy. Shaw growled quietly into Anduin’s mouth and reached around to his front, groping between them for what he expected to be a flaccid cock. Instead, when his palm reached the king’s groin, he found he was already hard, straining against his pants. Shaw couldn’t help the surprised sound that escaped him. When he pulled back, Anduin was blushing. His blue eyes rolled down Shaw’s body, coming to a stop below his belt. Shaw followed the path and realized he was also very noticeably erect. He’d been so concerned with Anduin’s reactions and Blightcaller’s orders that he hadn’t given it much thought.

“I believe it’s time you both dispensed with your clothing,” Blightcaller said. “Do be quick about it.”

Quick was a relative term with a royal; after so many years Shaw could slip in and out of his armor with practiced ease, but Anduin’s clothes were rather more complicated. The problem was only made worse by his nervousness, and he caught his arms, his hair, and everything else conceivable in his jacket and shirt before he managed to get even halfway undressed.

“I could simply _cut_ the clothing from your body,” Blightcaller threatened.

Shaw was already naked. Not much worth worrying about, and he was hardly ashamed of what he had to offer. But Anduin was still in his pants and boots. Worse still, Blightcaller’s threat only seemed to increase his panic. Finally Shaw was forced to grab him and hold him still, sharing some of his own calm and helping to undo the laces of his pants. The boots were soft leather and slipped off easily, and finally—

 _Finally_ … 

—Anduin Wrynn was naked before him. He had been forced to sit back on the floor to remove his pants and boots, and now he sat, sprawled out as though he’d simply landed there, bared to Shaw with pink cheeks and sweat-slicked skin. Light, he was beautiful.

“Suck him.”

The command was so abrupt that Shaw flinched. He turned to look at Blightcaller, who only nodded to the king.

He should have been ashamed at how quickly and eagerly he did as he was told. How much it aroused him to hear Anduin’s soft gasp and strangled cry as Shaw’s mouth closed around his cock. He dove between the king’s legs, taking him into his throat, putting years of practice to work and relishing every second of it. Anduin’s cock was full and hot in his mouth, bitter on the back of his tongue, and his thighs quivered on either side of Shaw’s head. He wrapped his hands around Anduin’s hips and held him there, preventing him from bucking up—not that choking on his cock was particularly _low_ on Shaw’s list of desires. He’d gag _himself_ if he wasn’t careful, really.

Above him Anduin whined and held his breath, shaking from head to toe until he was forced to blow it out again and suck in another gulp of air. It was incredible how responsive he was. Under any other circumstances Shaw would have loved to stay with him, suck him off slowly, teasing and savoring him and taking him apart one piece at a time. But—

“Enough.”

Blightcaller’s voice was softer, but the edge of a demand was still very present. Shaw tried not to wonder exactly what their little show might be doing to him—or for him—and exactly what a Forsaken’s reanimation entailed. He knew from intelligence reports that Nathanos Marris’ body had been in a sorry state when he rejoined his former ranger-general’s side. At some point before the Burning Legion’s third invasion he had been gifted with a new, arguably fresh form. One that, to anyone but those who knew him best, was apparently remarkable in its resemblance to the formerly-human archer. Since that day he had appeared as close to alive as possible for someone so dead, barely distinguishable from a living man of his age apart from his glowing red-orange eyes and ashen pallor. It was strange, Shaw felt, to wonder if that new body had gifted Blightcaller with some of the functions of his living kin, as well.

Stranger still to wonder something like that with the taste of Anduin Wrynn’s cock still fresh on his tongue.

“Your young king might not enjoy these efforts so much if he reaches the end too soon,” Blightcaller helpfully supplied. “Why not find some other way to entertain me, hm?”

“You are twisted,” Shaw panted. His voice was rough, and he tried to ignore the way the sound of it made his own erection throb uncomfortably. It wasn’t as though Blightcaller _and_ the king couldn’t simply look down and see how much he wanted it, but while he wasn’t terribly worried about his dignity, he did hope to retain _some_ semblance of professional control.

“It comes with the territory,” Blightcaller said, shrugging. “As I have nothing to help you… ease the way, so to speak, perhaps you should see to your preparations in a more personal fashion.”

Shaw and Anduin both stared at him, and Blightcaller sighed. “Flip him over and _lick his asshole_ , you boorish cretin.”

Anduin blushed the deepest shade of red Shaw had seen yet and looked away, toward the wall of the tent. “Your M—Anduin,” Shaw said gently. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, do be a _little_ rough with him, would you? I’ve read romance novels with more heat.”

“You read many romance novels?” Shaw fired back as he helped turn Anduin onto his hands and knees. “Explains a few things.”

Blightcaller scoffed. “Does it really, Shaw?”

Actually, no. Not at all. But Shaw kept his mouth shut about it. He turned back to find Anduin had lowered his head to the floor and raised his hips to present himself, and Light, if that wasn’t a sight to make a man’s mouth go dry.

To the left Blightcaller grunted, and Shaw shot him a furtive glance. He could almost _swear_ there was a visible bulge beneath the heavy layers of his coat and armor. Yet he hadn’t so much as touched himself once.

“Make him beg for it,” Blightcaller breathed. He was starting to sound a bit hoarse.

“Shaw—” Anduin panted. He turned to look back at Shaw behind him. “I’ve, um, done this before. So. You don’t have to be quite as gentle.”

His surprise hit before he could stop himself from reacting; the king made a distressed sound and turned away again, evidently too embarrassed to look at the man whose face was currently hovering a few scant inches from his behind.

“That’s good,” Shaw said, swallowing hard. He didn’t want to think about who might have been the first, or _Light_ , the second, third, fourth… But at the same time, he very much _did_. “How many times?” he found himself asking. He leaned down to place a kiss on the soft, pale curve of Anduin’s ass, making him shiver. It was impossible to deny the sheer _want_ in his voice any longer.

“Th—three times,” Anduin said. How, Shaw wondered, in all his silent observation of the goings-on in Stormwind Keep, had he missed such a highly relevant detail? Not relevant because he wanted Anduin for himself, of course. And he almost believed that, too. But mostly relevant because _who was warming the king’s bed without his spymaster’s knowledge?_ He had a feeling that question, and the mystery of how he had overlooked such vital information, would haunt him.

However, at the moment the most important thing was making sure Anduin enjoyed himself, because Shaw was starting to formulate a plan, and it would require more than just the king’s cooperation and grudging arousal to pull it off. “Who?” he asked, almost offhandedly.

“Ah—um,” the king stalled, “no one you would know…”

“I highly doubt that.” He knew everyone.

Blightcaller also seemed curious about the king’s past indiscretions. “Now, now, Your Majesty. No secrets among friends,” he prompted.

Shaw ran his hands along Anduin’s flanks, trying to soothe him. “It might help if I had some idea,” he said, certainly _not_ asking only to sate his own tasteless curiosity. He punctuated the suggestion with another quick kiss to the dimples just above Anduin’s backside, and this time the king squirmed in a decidedly more enthusiastic manner.

“Well,” he began, huffing out a breath and dropping his forehead to the wood-slat floor of the tent. “The first… was, um, Wrathion.”

Oh. Well, that wasn’t exactly surprising. But Shaw didn’t want him to feel ashamed of finally admitting his affair with Deathwing’s spawn, and so he only hummed noncommittally.

Blightcaller had no such reservations. “Please,” he snarled, “everyone on this side of the Dark Portal knows what you and that dragon whelp were up to in Pandaria. How terribly banal. I had expected something shocking, perhaps even grotesque.” He scoffed. “You let a dragon cover you like a common broodmare. What an earth-shattering surprise.”

Anduin objected wordlessly, and Shaw grimaced at the Forsaken. “Ignore him, Your Majesty—Anduin,” he quickly corrected.

“Who else?” Blightcaller demanded. He actually seemed _annoyed_ somehow. As though he needed something more interesting to keep his attention, and Anduin’s first confession simply would not do.

“I—ah—” Anduin bucked as Shaw’s lips finally touched the sensitive skin behind his balls. One of them had to do _something_ to keep this farce on track. “Oh, _Shaw_ —oh, that’s…”

“Focus, Your Majesty,” Blightcaller said with feigned patience.

“R-right,” Anduin stammered. He swallowed back another gasp. “The second. Was. Uh.”

“While most of us are still alive.”

“Ah—Archmage Khadgar!” he yelped, pushing back on Shaw’s tongue, which was tracing a lazy circle around his hole.

Shaw froze. Blightcaller stood up straight. Anduin was left panting into the floor.

“The archmage, really?” Shaw asked. He was _genuinely_ surprised by that one. How? And more importantly— “ _When?_ ”

“The,” Anduin pressed his lips together and hummed as Shaw slowly returned to working him open, adding a finger to the mix, “the Broken Shore.”

Shaw stopped again. He knew the king had run off, and that he’d even spent some time among the various champions and those factions camped at Deliverance Point that were intent on ending the Legion once and for all. But he had never imagined that his little life-affirming field day might have included bedding the closest thing Azeroth had to a Guardian and the head of the Council of Six. Granted, it was less surprising that it was _Khadgar_. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why?”

“I was,” Anduin made a sound in his throat like an impatient whine when Shaw combined a finger _and_ his tongue. “I was upset. I—was lonely. Just needed someone… _Light_ , don’t stop!”

“And so you sought out the archmage’s company, hm? What an ambitious little _slut_ ,” Blightcaller chuckled.

“He offered. Lord, uh— _ah!_ Lord Illidan, too.”

Alright, that was— _what?_ Shaw sat back on his heels, ignoring Anduin’s whine of protest. “You slept with Illidan Stormrage?” he asked incredulously. Surely _that_ might have warranted just a _bit_ of a heads-up. If only as a general courtesy. For Light’s sake, he had _files to update_.

But Anduin shook his head. “He only watched,” he huffed. “Mostly.”

What the _hell_ went on in that camp?

At least Illidan’s limited participation made sense. His close relationship with Archmage Khadgar was not quite so surprising, Shaw would admit—again, primarily due to it being Khadgar.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Blightcaller said, sounding unusually sincere. “I had called you a slut intending to be cruel. I didn’t realize it was such a fitting title.”

“Blightcaller, really,” Shaw sighed. He gave Anduin’s thigh a light pinch, and smiled when he turned around to look. “Let’s forget about that, shall we?” he said to the young king, who nodded in return.

His ministrations resumed, and a silence fell upon the three—apart from the occasional quiet sigh and the obscene sound of Shaw’s tongue working Anduin into a state of utter disarray. Blightcaller himself had gone unusually quiet, but Shaw didn’t question small miracles.

After a time, when he was beginning to suspect Anduin might not be able to take anymore of his tongue, fingers, or the light touches to his thighs and groin, Shaw sat back again. He was just about to ask if the king was ready for him when Blightcaller made a strange sound and said, “Illidan Stormrage doesn’t have eyes.”

The only reply was the sound of Anduin’s forehead _thunking_ to the floor.

“ _What?_ ” Shaw asked.

Squinting down at Anduin, Blightcaller repeated, “Illidan Stormrage doesn’t have _eyes_. How did he watch?”

Shaw looked to Anduin. “He, uh, could see the magic,” he explained to the floor. “Holy and arcane, we’re both very… some kind of spectral sight.” He slapped his palm down on the wooden slats and whined, “Shaw, _please!_ ”

“How long do you want this to take?” Shaw asked Blightcaller. “I thought you expected us to entertain you.” Anduin was whimpering below him.

“Oh, I find this all _quite_ entertaining, I assure you,” Blightcaller said happily. But then he shifted, and Shaw was finally able to confirm that yes, he was _very_ hard beneath his clothes. Which meant he was interested in more than just the dirty gossip about his enemy’s sex life. Shaw could work with that. He only hoped the king could do the same.

“I believe His Majesty has received enough of your attentions, however,” Blightcaller added a moment later. He made a gesture with his finger, mimicking a twirl. “Your turn, boy. Put those pretty pink lips of yours to work on the spymaster. I’m certain you’ve had ample experience, if those rumors regarding the archmage are true.”

Anduin, it seemed, did not need to be told twice. Before Shaw could blink he found himself on his back, straddled by the king, who sat on his chest as he very enthusiastically bobbed his head up and down the length of Shaw’s cock. His ass was _right there_ , and Shaw pulled him close enough that he could continue to lick and rub at all the sensitive spots between his legs. Every time his tongue flicked over the hole Anduin moaned around his cock, and Shaw arched into the wet heat of his mouth. When he dared a glance in Blightcaller’s direction he found the Forsaken palming himself beneath the long tails of his vest. They were back on track, finally. Hopefully.

“Who was the third?” Blightcaller abruptly asked, and Shaw was the one who groaned this time.

Anduin pulled off his cock with a wet _pop_ and a long sweep of his tongue, and Shaw let his head fall back against the floor. If Blightcaller was right, he’d have to remember to send Khadgar a thank you note. Maybe some flowers. _Wine_ , probably. Anduin stroked him slowly as he rocked back on Shaw, seeking more from his fingers. “Well…” he began hesitantly.

“Come, you’ve already confessed to some rather sordid misdeeds with a handful of Azeroth’s most notable miscreants. Surely the last isn’t so—”

“Varok Saurfang.”

“Your Majesty!” Shaw exclaimed. He brought his hands down on Anduin’s ass without thinking, making him yelp. “I should have known about this!” Any semblance of professional detachment was gone; Shaw was practically shoving Anduin off him, ignoring the king’s startled protests.

Standing above them, Blightcaller seemed to be at a total loss. “Really?” he asked, eyes narrowing incredulously. And then, “ _Really?_ ” again.

“Where?!” Shaw demanded. He already knew, Light help him, he knew, but he was going to ask anyway.

Anduin, who by that point was on the floor between Shaw’s legs, said, “Well, I’m sure you recall the night I went to speak to him in the Stockade…” He hadn’t finished before Shaw started complaining—loudly.

“Is there anyone or any _thing_ you won’t open your legs for?” Blightcaller demanded. “He’s an orc, you wanton little harlot, how did you even—”

“Very carefully,” Anduin said, shrugging.

“Is there anything else I should know about?” Shaw asked. He wasn’t offended by the king’s choice in partners, really, although he was beginning to regret never speaking up himself. It was more that Anduin had somehow managed to keep him from knowing about _most_ of them. The Black Prince was one thing, but the affair with Saurfang had happened right under his nose. _In Stormwind!_

Anduin looked anything but chagrined, however. He glanced at Blightcaller, and then looked at Shaw and said, “Would you like details?”

It took a moment, a breathless few seconds of silence between the other two men, and then, in unison, Shaw and Blightcaller both answered, “ _Yes_.”

To Shaw’s great surprise and even greater pleasure, it took very little time to rearrange themselves as they had been. This time he wrapped his arms around Anduin’s waist, holding him close as he tongued at his hole. Anduin squirmed in his arms, but kept his lips tight around Shaw’s cock, coming up only to provide a new tawdry detail.

“Dragon’s come hot, did you know that?” he asked, diving down to mouth at the vein that pulsed along the side of Shaw’s cock. “Hotter than a human. It’s like melted wax on your skin.”

Shaw pressed his open mouth to Anduin’s hole and swept the flat of his tongue across the sensitive skin, making Anduin jump and blow out a sigh. “Only on your skin?” he asked hoarsely when Anduin returned to sucking him. He received a hummed _mm-mm_ in reply, which he took to mean _no_ , and if that didn’t make his cock throb nothing would. He ached just _listening_ to Anduin.

“What of the archmage,” Blightcaller said. His voice was rough and only just louder than a whisper. He had his gloved hand inside the open front of his pants, and he was jerking himself while he watched the other two. He’d discarded the knife on the table behind him, which was presently holding his weight as he no longer seemed able to keep himself standing. “What did you allow him to do to you?” He growled, adding, “You filthy little slut,” for good measure.

“I— _ah_ ,” Anduin winced as Shaw worked his fingers back into him. “I rode him. Mm, Shaw, _there—!_ ”

“You rode the archmage while Illidan Stormrage watched you, is that it?”

Anduin shook his head, and Shaw could feel his golden hair dragging across his thighs. “Khadgar s—spanked me, too. Then Illidan came on my face.” He grunted and shook as Shaw crooked his fingers and massaged his prostate. “Oh, that’s… _Oh_. Shaw, fuck me, please,” he whined breathlessly.

Shaw was already moving them before Anduin had even finished asking, pushing the king to the floor on his hands and knees, and steadying himself behind him. He had been impressively hard for what felt like forever, and the need to sink into Anduin and take him was so strong that he could barely manage to think straight. But still he kept enough of his wits about him to maintain a watchful eye on Blightcaller.

The Forsaken had his cock out now, stroking it slowly while he gripped the table behind him with his other hand. “I suppose it’s past time you put your notch in the boy’s bedpost, Spymaster” he chuckled. To Anduin, he said, “Keep going. Tell me of the orc.”

Anduin was wet and loose, and well relaxed. He would take Shaw’s cock easily, and showed no signs of any reservations about doing so in front of his enemy. Those concerns seemed to have fallen by the wayside with the rise in his arousal. Fortunately, Blightcaller had also stopped asking stupid questions and distracting him.

Another hum, this one of remembered pleasure. Anduin took his own cock in hand and tugged on it a few times as Shaw pressed against his hole, preparing to slip inside. “He was so _big_ ,” Anduin whispered. “Powerful. I could—more, Shaw, yes—I could barely walk when he was through with me.”

“Tell me,” Blightcaller rasped, “did he fuck you against the bars, or on the filthy floor of his cell?”

Anduin let out a long, throaty moan as Shaw pushed all the way into him. He gulped in a breath and hissed out, “Bars.”

The mental image that supplied was nearly enough to send Shaw tumbling into his own climax. He bit his lip and stilled himself, barely two thrusts in and already prepared to burst. “Maybe we should… stop reminiscing,” he suggested. “If you want this to last.” He _needed_ it to last. For both their sakes.

Blightcaller only rumbled his agreement, but he kept stroking, jerking his cock while he observed Shaw carefully return to fucking Anduin on the wooden floor of the tent. He seemed to enjoy watching Anduin perform lewd sexual acts, listening to his retelling of the ways he’d been debauched. Shaw figured that something about Anduin—bright, clean, and seemingly innocent Anduin—being laid out and taken in some seedy manner appealed to him. It made a twisted kind of sense, and Shaw… couldn’t say he didn’t understand. He wasn’t particularly proud of that.

Anduin whined and pushed back onto him, whispering, “ _More!_ ” over and over, as well as, “ _Faster!_ ” here and there. He punctuated each word with quiet sighs, high-pitched little gasps, and more than one, “ _Yeah!_ ” as he let Shaw pound into him until he could no longer remain up on his hands. He dropped down to his elbows, but lost none of his enthusiasm for it. The sound alone was more erotic than Shaw could have—had—ever dreamed.

Just a little bit more… 

“Hold his hips, pull him back onto you,” Blightcaller ordered. He hardly needed to give them instructions, but he seemed intent on being involved somehow. More than a simple observer. That worked just fine for Shaw.

When he drove hard into Anduin and pulled a wail from him, he decided it was time to make the next move. “Anduin,” he said, “how would you feel about a little more?”

Anduin made a long, drawn-out _oh_ sound and nodded eagerly.

“Do you want another cock? Do you want Nathanos to fuck you, too?”

He half expected the king to balk, to stop suddenly and rage at him for ever presuming to ask such an outrageous question. But he only shivered and hissed, “ _Yesss_ ,” as he squeezed around Shaw’s length.

Perfect. And oh, _perfect_.

Shaw looked to Blightcaller and canted his head in Anduin’s direction. For all that he’d been making vague threats of taking what he wanted, the Forsaken seemed too stunned to move at first. Shaw cleared his throat, and Blightcaller rushed to join them on the floor, stretching out in front of Anduin.

“Ride him,” Shaw said, pulling out of Anduin and giving him a swat on the ass. He stood and leaned against the table while he watched the other two reposition themselves.

Anduin was so lost in ecstasy that he didn’t seem to notice or care that Blightcaller was still fully dressed. He stood up and stepped over Blightcaller’s hips, crouching down to squat over his bare cock. Whatever the hell sort of magic allowed Nathanos Marris to continue existing was evidently _not_ the same sort—or not exactly the same, anyway—as what animated the other Forsaken. More potent, perhaps. Either way, the precome that slicked the head of his cock and eased the way for Anduin as he sank down onto him was clearly not strange enough to give the young king pause. Then again, after Wrathion, Khadgar, Illidan, and Saurfang, _what was_.

Anduin settled himself and began rocking slowly. Blightcaller held his hips, a strange mix of awe and feral glee on his face as he gently thrust up into Anduin’s tight heat. Shaw watched for a moment, not nearly as bothered by the sight as the much more responsible voice in the back of his mind told him he should be. When they’d been at it for a minute or two he knelt behind Anduin and pushed him forward over Blightcaller’s chest.

“I think you could use another cock, couldn’t you?” he teased. Not that it mattered much what he said; beneath the fringe of his hair, Anduin’s eyes were blown wide and glassy. His lips were wet and glistening and his mouth hung open as he panted into the muggy air around them. He watched Shaw over his shoulder, open want etched into his features. When Shaw started to push in, he shut his eyes tight and buried his face in Blightcaller’s chest.

A more naive point in his youth was the last time Shaw could recall being so carefree that he dared to make himself vulnerable to two lovers at once. He frowned at the thought; applying the word _lover_ to Nathanos Blightcaller, even just in his own mind, seemed very wrong. And also not wrong enough, which was even worse.

Sliding in snug alongside Blightcaller’s cock was neither as difficult nor as strange as he imagined it would be, despite his initial misgivings. He was warm, not cold, and fairly pulsing with his arousal. Shaw cursed and held Anduin’s shoulders to steady himself before he began thrusting, pushing into Anduin and along Blightcaller’s length and so _stupidly_ happy that this plan had worked so far.

He pushed Anduin all the way down, until his chest was flush with the dull, grey cloth of Blightcaller’s vest. The Forsaken pulled Anduin’s face up to his, and he mouthed along his jaw, down his neck, grunting each time Shaw thrust forward. They all seemed to have given up on speaking; dirty words and filthy little names were one thing when everyone was still somewhat coherent, but that was gone now. Shaw could barely remember what he was actually doing, for how rapidly he was approaching his own orgasm.

Then, in a stunning display of poor self control, Blightcaller came abruptly and rather aggressively, bucking so hard he nearly sent Shaw tumbling backwards. Anduin, who Shaw assumed must have already been close before they even began in earnest, followed less than a minute later, spilling all over Blightcaller’s clothes and a bit in his beard. Shaw was close behind, and even if he hadn’t already been able to _feel_ the archer’s come around his cock, slipping out of Anduin with every thrust, the thought alone would have been enough to finish him off. He came with a curse and pushed deep into Anduin, his hips twitching as he emptied himself inside his king. Something he had never imagined he might have the opportunity to do.

Blightcaller seemed far more relaxed than Shaw had ever recalled in past meetings—not that there were all that many to go on. He truly wanted to make a snide remark about the archer’s sudden dash to the finish line—something about the Banshee Queen depriving her favorite, perhaps—but he needed Blightcaller to remain pleasantly sated and content on the floor for just a little bit longer.

Anduin, still shrouded in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss, happily unseated himself and moved aside when Shaw gave him a gentle nudge. Anduin stood and Shaw followed, offering Blightcaller a hand. The archer accepted, and in the time it took him to fully right himself on his feet, Shaw had the blade of the knife pressed to his throat.

“Take a few seconds to tuck yourself back in,” he said. “And try not to give me a reason to cut your head off.”

Blightcaller growled and narrowed his red eyes at Shaw. “Clever,” he sneered, discreetly following Shaw’s advice. “Perhaps there is some merit to SI:7’s renown after all.”

“I wouldn’t feel too bad,” Shaw offered, “you did get to have sex with the king of Stormwind. How many—” The words died in the air as he cleared his throat. He turned Blightcaller so that he was standing at his back, instead. “Never mind.”

“That worked well,” Anduin remarked rather cheerfully. Given what had just happened, Shaw had expected that he would have to console the young king. Then again, _Illidan_. He was just contemplating the strangeness of that threesome when it occurred to him what Anduin had actually said.

He narrowed his eyes at the king. “You knew what I was doing?” he asked.

The look Anduin gave him was exasperated and a little amused. “Shaw. I’m easy, not stupid.”

Blightcaller chuckled despite the knife at his throat. “I’ll say,” he muttered, side-eyeing the king.

“Quiet!” Shaw snapped. He gestured for one of the ropes, which Anduin, now half-dressed, swiftly retrieved for him. “Hands,” he said.

Blightcaller sighed and put his hands behind his back, allowing Shaw to tie him up. “Do you intend to parade me through the camp in your present state, or would you like to make yourself more presentable first?” he asked. “You’ll have to take the blade from my neck to do so.”

“I doubt An—His Majesty has any qualms about keeping you in check while I get dressed.” Shaw glanced at Anduin, who nodded. They switched places and he donned his armor as quickly as possible, not bothering with most of the more elaborate and frankly superfluous buckles, or even tightening the corset more than was necessary to keep it on. When they switched back, Anduin finished dressing himself, and then Shaw pushed Blightcaller toward the tent flap.

“Well,” the Forsaken said, “at least I can confidently say today wasn’t a _complete_ loss.”

Anduin scoffed, and Shaw couldn’t help a mischievous smile of his own. He leaned in close to Blightcaller’s ear, pressed up against him from behind, and whispered, “For your sake, I hope Sylvanas feels the same way.”

  
The war came to a rather dramatic close less than two months after that surreal and somewhat awkward incident. It ended with Sylvanas Windrunner abandoning the Horde at the gates of Orgrimmar, revealing her true nature before an army of her loyal followers and the forces that opposed her. For a time things were rather strange for everyone. Despite the brutal war that had been fought, there was no clear winner, and no true loser to speak of.

With one possible exception.

Nathanos Blightcaller had been present in Orgrimmar when Sylvanas made her rather dramatic escape. He’d been inside the walls, preparing to direct troops in the event that the Alliance and their rebellious Horde allies actually attacked the city. When those around him learned of Sylvanas’ treachery, they seized the Forsaken archer and shackled him to the wall of Grommash Hold. It was there that Thrall, Baine Bloodhoof, and Lor’themar Theron found him. At first they had intended to simply rid themselves of the nuisance, passing a sentence of death for Blightcaller’s part in Sylvanas’ atrocities. It was King Anduin Wrynn, the first human king welcomed as a guest in Orgrimmar, who proposed a different solution.

  
  


Shaw followed his king down a dark, dank corridor in the east wing of the Stockade. Most of the prisoners had been moved to other wings, even before Princess Talanji’s escape and Varok Saurfang’s _“escape.”_ It left the long stretch of cells and heavy wooden doors at the east end standing vacant.

All but one.

At the end of the corridor and down a short flight of stairs lay a single cell with a lone occupant. Nathanos Blightcaller. A gift—from the Horde to the Alliance, as a show of good will and hope for future friendship. No one _really_ thought that would happen, of course, but it was a nice gesture.

Blightcaller lay on his back on a long wooden cot, stripped of all his armor and his beloved black coat. But for his ashen pallor and red-orange eyes, he looked like any other prisoner. His hands were crossed over his waist, and he was tapping his feet together in time with the water dripping from the grate in the ceiling.

“Ah, it’s Spymaster Shaw and His Royal Whoreness,” Blightcaller drawled, snickering at his own bad joke. “To what do I owe the honor?” He did not get up, nor did he look at either of them. “Have you set my execution date at last?”

“It is my duty to see to it that all prisoners are being properly cared for,” Anduin said. Shaw had long since given up on thinking of him in the most formal terms. In public, yes. But in private… he had a few other things he liked to call the king. Things the king very much enjoyed being called, as it turned out. “Are you well, Nathanos?”

“We’re on a first-name basis now, are we, Anduin?”

“Given our history—”

“How disgustingly sentimental. Are you here to kill me or to fuck me?” Blightcaller asked wryly. “Whichever it is, pick one and get on with it.” When neither man outside the cell answered after several seconds, he craned his neck to look up at them. “You’re not serious?”

Anduin looked up at Shaw, who produced a pair of truesteel manacles. Leather-lined. They were quite nice, he thought. Cost him a bit of gold, but then, it _had_ been Anduin’s birthday.

Blightcaller scoffed, but there was an air of anticipation about him that could not be denied. “I suppose I _should_ redeem myself for my rather poor showing last time, eh?”

“Try to last longer than five whole minutes,” Shaw agreed.

“In my defense,” Blightcaller said, and he held out a hand to indicate the king.

Shaw looked down at Anduin. “That is fair,” he said.

Anduin shrugged. “It is.”

He tossed the manacles into the cell. “Put them on.”

“Yes, yes.” Blightcaller sighed and locked himself in. “It’s a shame, you know.”

Shaw arched an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?” he asked.

Anduin made a curious sound, and Blightcaller shook his head. He lifted his wrists and rattled the manacles. “With tastes like these, you’d have made _lovely_ Forsaken.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yup. So that's a thing that happened.


End file.
